Tonight, At the Circus
by Spursendipite
Summary: At the circus, people gather to watch anomalies from all over the world perform death-defying stunts and mystical acts. But what really happens when night falls and spectators depart for their abodes? Nothing pleasant. Circustalia. AU. Human names used.
1. Chapter 1

The American held the car high over his head and spun it around and around. The silver Mercedes went around and around, the man spinning it not even breaking a sweat as he picked up speed.

"Watch, ladies and gentlemen, as he tosses it in the air, and catches it with one hand!" called a hulking Russian with a thick accent from a corner of the tent.

Alfred squatted, his legs bending until it looked as if he were sitting in an invisible chair. A smirk passed across his face, and he shot up from his position. The silver vehicle went about twenty feet into the air.

The entire crowd held its breath in anticipation as the car rose higher and higher, and then fell lower and lower.

The bespectacled blond did just as the ringmaster had predicted; he caught the expensive car in one hand. He hadn't even flinched. The American set the car down and took a bow as the audience applauded and cheered.

"And now, for our final act! Ladies and gentleman," started Ivan as he brought himself to the center of the floor, "our dear friend, the Strongman, will now become a weapon from the past!" He paused as the crowd murmured amongst itself in tones ranging from shocked to confused. "He will become a cannonball… a human cannonball!"

Not a mouth in the crowd went un-agape.

Two women pushed a large cannon, which had gone previously unnoticed, into the ring. "And now," called the assistant with short hair and a rather large chest, "prepare for the human cannonball!"

Alfred smiled and waved as he made his way across the floor and to the foot of the cannon. He kissed the short-haired Ukrainian on the cheek before they swapped his glasses for a helmet and he hauled himself into the mouth of the cannon. The long-haired blonde woman held a box of matches, a devious smile flashing across her face, and, to the crowd, it appeared as if she enjoyed the job of lighting the cannon's fuse a little too much. Natalia was a little bit crazy, but she'd always done her hob well.

The American waved to the crowd as he disappeared into the barrel of the over-sized firearm.

"Can you count with me?" called the ringmaster. "Five!" he called into his microphone.

"Four!" called the crowd. "Three!" they howled in unison. "Two!" Nobody was silent by the second-to-last moment. "One!"

Alfred shot out of the cannon with great force, his body stiff as he went flying through the air. The crowd went berserk as he landed safely on a gigantic stunt mattress.

The cast started to line up as things were pushed away by the two assistants and a pudgy dark-skinned man. The American rolled off of the mattress and blew kisses to everyone as he found his place among his fellow performers.

"Ladies and gentleman," called the ringmaster from the center of the floor, "it has been a pleasure entertaining you tonight! I would like to introduce to you our cast and crew! Alfred, the Strongman and Human Cannonball! Arthur, the Magician!" He went on until everyone's name had been introduced. "And finally, the Ringmaster, yours truly, Ivan Bragsnky!" His thick accent shined through as he spoke, and it was particularly strong when pronouncing his own name. "Can we get a round of applause?"

The crowd cheered and yelled rapports of support and admiration.

After a few moments, the Slav motioned for the crowd to quiet down.

"Make your way to the exit, located at the right! Good night!" he called into the microphone.

The lights dimmed until there was just enough light for the people to see where they were going.

The two assistants greeted people as they left – one politely, the other rather begrudgingly, while the dark-skinned man cleaned up the mess. The performers all spoke amongst themselves in excited tones. They had all gotten more applause than expected.

"Did you see them when I came on?" an albino inquired excitedly. "They could hardly contain themselves!"

"We!" reminded his two fellow acrobats, a man with long blond hair and an attractive Spaniard. "Did you see them cheer when _we_ came on?" they corrected him. That was routine, though. Gilbert was rather self-centered.

Two Brits spoke excitedly amongst themselves. "Arthur, do you think someday you could teach me about magic? I could teach you how to be more flexible, you want!"

His older brother chuckled. "I might teach you some simple spells when you are older." He decided to ignore the comment about flexibility. It was one of those rare nights where he didn't feel like arguing or dampening the mood.

Ivan smiled as he watched them all. He made the largest cut, being the ringmaster. Not that he was greedy – it was just something he was proud of. All he had to do was announce names and acts… and keep people in line. The Russian felt a tap on the back.

"Ivan?"

The Russian smiled. "Hello, Alfred," he said, turning around. "You did well out there. Naturally."

Alfred blushed a little bit. It was still odd, considering their past relationship as rivals, to hear the Slav compliment him. "Thank you!"

Ivan kissed him on the cheek. "Keep it up, strongman." There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but not enough to arouse suspicion from the American.

"Don't worry!" he said confidently. "I will! You'll get the best of me, Ivan. I promise."

Ivan could be sure of that. Alfred never slacked off.

"Good night, Alfred," the Russian deadpanned. He was obviously not interested in continuing that conversation. For some reason, his mood had changed quickly.

Alfred sighed. "Good night." It was rather common for the Russian's emotions to change from one moment to the next, but it could be disheartening at times.

The Slav, seeing the disappointment in the other man's face, kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Sweet dreams." He smiled.

The American perked up a little bit. "You too!" he called as Ivan disappeared into the crowd of performers.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Carlos, essentially the entire cleanup crew, glaring at him.

The Cuban's behavior wasn't unusual, but Alfred couldn't help but wonder what all the animosity was about.


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos went about his tasks mechanically, like a machine, as he cleaned up behind the circus. He hate that the American had the last act, hated that he was the last one to surprise the crowd. He hated the fact that Alfred could amaze the ringmaster the way he did.

He sighed as he pushed the cannon away, to the left corner, where the rest of the props rested. Arthur would be there later, so that he could poof it all to another realm or something like that. Carlos wasn't really sure where it all went.

The Cuban rather liked Arthur… because Arthur really liked Alfred. Sometimes as night he wished that Arthur would just give up his abrasive front and let the American in.

He desperately wanted Alfred to be with someone else – anyone else. He wanted Ivan for himself. He didn't just want him in the early hours of the morning after Alfred had left. No, Carlos wanted him all day, every day.

And so, like after every act, he glared at the obnoxious "hero" with disdain.

"It's only so I can keep everyone in line," Ivan had intimated to Carlos day when they were alone. "He is useful," he had admitted. "He's strong enough to keep everyone in line."

Carlos wasn't quite sure _why_ the ringmaster needed someone to keep people in line – people were generally already very afraid of Ivan alone – but whatever gave the Slav peace at night could give Carlos reassurance.

"Carlos?"

He turned around to see one of the assistants, the short-haired one, smiling at him piteously.

"Yes, Katyusha?" He really did like her nickname, and he was delighted that he was allowed to use it.

"Please do not worry," she said, patting him on the back. "He really does love you – I hope you know that."

The Cuban sighed. "I suppose. I just don't understand."

A worried look passed over the Ukrainian's face. "I don't, either."

"I hate him," he admitted as he shot another glare in the American's direction. "I wish Ivan could just… never mind." Carlos shook his head.

"Pick you?" she guessed. "Natasha wishes the same." She glanced at her sibling, standing alone in the corner all alone. "It consumes her…"

"It's starting to consume me," Carlos admitted. "I think about it all the time."

The woman shook her head. "Don't let it. It will destroy you," she warned.

The Cuban frowned. "I know. Believe me… I know."

Yekaterina forced a smile onto her face. "Stay strong. Something tells me that things will work out." She turned and strolled up to her brother, her breasts bouncing all the way.

Something told the Cuban that things would work out for the best. After all, Ivan had kept him, right? He had not just left the man to rot. That was a good sign.


End file.
